My mouth moves in a lonely way.
My breath knows no idea of continuity.
I believe only in the narcissistic consumption of thought.

Is that art?

You confessed to sinning in the womb.
But on your grave, there will be no roses.
Nothing left for your bones.
Just steps sending you shivers.
Taunting you.
Can this last?
My hair tangles in the stale air, and I bite my lips, trying to calm their dancing.
They whisper my poorly kept secrets.

This is ours, this empty home.
With polaroids of strangers on the wall.
A mattress that moans as you slump down.

Its been a long day.

Stained glass reflections on my face as I lean against the window pane.
I watch the ways your pupils contract as they meet mine across the bare room.
You down your coffee from this morning, too sweet, making you scrunch up your nose.
Like electric molasses it moves down your throat, it’s taste on your lips.
Where mine were last night.

My mouth is in motion, and you hear my intentions with a filter of hope.

I love you
is the biggest white lie,
I've ever heard.

Stop the car.
I'm ready to go home.
Now.

Cause this,
this obviously isn't working out.

Falling stars,
Descending momentom.
Nebulas of unspoken secrets,
Past and future bended
Into one smile.

Little pockets of sound that skyrocket around
Words: verbs, adjectives, nouns

Words can get me steaming or lucid dreaming
And it leaves me silently screaming to see people consider words a weapon
Like they mean to cause harm
Well let me remind you I have the right to bear arms

Just because what’s on that page is mine
Doesn’t means it aligns with the ideals in my mind
Writing is expression, not confession
So when I write about a character who is confused and depressed
Buys a used gun and a bulletproof vest
And shoots up his classmates in the middle of a test
Because everyone ignored the signs of his anger
Doesn’t mean there’s a trench coat on my hanger

But nevertheless, they labeled me me a threat
Better yet, they focused on me instead of the 15 year old addicted to cigarettes
and took my words out of context
Because they are con-text
Well I’m pro-text and I protest that they suggest that I’m hopeless
and I know this coldness only hones my focus on my magnum opus

But where would we be without controversy?
The indirect side effect to freedom of speech
A beacon for speakin’ your mind without your rights being breached

It’s all in the name
When you write, you’re right
But when you advocate censorship, then you’re ****
My two cents are worth a million bucks
So who cares if they contain a million *****?
F-words might be wayward but in a way they aren’t F-words, they’re A-words

Because all words are equal on surface
Well, until one strikes a nerve with a conservative
Who, without even meeting me, determined me to be
The next **** Germany

I didn’t write a story about a school shooter
I wrote it about how one impressionable kid became a slave to the page
And lost himself in the rage as an unfortunate consequence

And it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense
That the school would let themselves fall victim to a nonexistent threat
Brought on by a few paragraphs on a pair of half ripped papers stapled and
Paper-clipped to the rest of my script

You can place the blame but you became that same shameful shell
Hell, you can expel me, but you can’t compel me
To stop yelling again with this paper and pen
Or a stage and a mic
Going without words is like an endless hunger strike

Being voiceless ain’t a choice for this
When I protest, I prefer to be heard
A whole lot can happen with a few simple words

Beyond the black and blue
I can give back the truth
Because it’s not a crime
to walk into a public building packing youth

Let the drums roll on down
and collapse this soulless clown
Until he’s merely another body in a hole in the ground

Break my bones until it’s shown
how much blood this flood has known
You can’t postpone a cyclone or
Play sirens, stay private, or pray science
will apply the silence to overthrow a tyrant
that’s defiant in philosophy and dire in democracy

But that’s my luck
and I can’t instruct
The universe to bend its will
just because I’ve had enough

Play that piano with enough soul to crack the keys
And send a screech on down the hall that
disrupts their judgement but appeases them all
that ivory rubble puts a pop in the bubble
that convinced you that you were invincible

but since it now lays in the shadow of the mist
your creation and self-destruction can now coexist
Rome wasn’t built in a day but neither were you
Pack a little solace in the wisdom of ole
Fire fights fire so stop, drop, and roll

And when your time finally arrives
Know that something just as beautiful
was allowed to survive

So let me sleep,
Oh let me weep,
And see me cry,
So you can feel my heart,
And feel the quakes,
And the aftershocks,
My empty smiles, telling you my lies,
I will keep my ground, but a standing wall,
So wish I will,
As if I were a sea,
And I could seep into your eyes,
In a raft, sail through your veins,
If I could make your heart, beat faster, with words of my own,
And creek a dreary sound, still making you smile,
Through thoughts and but drifting heart beats,
I can’t sleep at night,
For I’m exhausted by my heart,
That doesn’t let me be,
For you but barely let me run,
After your fleeting gaze, which seems to drop,
When mine begins to rise,
A vase, still empty,
Only wishing to hold you, my flower,
And wishing, only to,
Compliment your beauty,
So velvet,
In this dim moonlight.

Insomnia is not the, uh
End of the line or some transcendent sign
That tells you that happiness and comfort are reserved for other people only

Take a deep breath to ensure the cheap death of the sleep theft
That robs you of your right to not dim the lights and go unconscious tonight
Stay awake and aware
Put foot to the brake and delay your despair

Mourn the loss of a fate that did not graduate
Into all that you’d hoped for and tried to create
Life is never translated perfectly from your grandiose dreams
To what actually seems to be the case
That the world is confusing and unforgiving place
Don’t cry over a book shedding some words making the leap from page to silver screen
Rejoice that you even have source material

For me, it was getting caught up in the fantasy of a girl
Who, for a little while anyways, redefined my entire world
My life's atlas is still undergoing edits, so she gets some due credit
And like an inquisitive child testing out his hypothesis on a lightswitch
She’d disappear without a sound and wait around to just be found
Awesome, awful, top of the world, bottom of the barrel, there, and not

And... not.

...

I was foolish enough to be a rollercoaster seat who genuinely believed that
The person who chose me wasn’t merely in it for the ride
But for something inside
Some kind of feeling
Only I could have supplied

But at the end of the 60-second 60-mile per hour loops and swoops
The bars come up and the passengers leave
And the seat is left there wondering
“Didn’t they like having fun with me?”

I’ve been brainwashed
to this strange spot
of abstained thoughts
there’s been days when I praise God
But today’s not
I gotta claim faith debt and hit rock bottom
And do to my demons what the so-called faithful don’t
Talk about ‘em

So for now I’m gonna let her light go dark
Because I’ve been blinded to the fact
That when I’m attacked
I can still create my own spark

I can climb outta the hole and
Get back in control and
shrug em all off and
the only thing she deserves is a scoff and
a few verses dispersed with perverse curse words

...*****.

I’m diagnosing myself with fictitious symptom syndrome
This apparent disease squeezes by my dilating eyes and disconnects my
god ****** diaphragm and derails my dialect

But as long as my skeleton stands up straight
And I have stories to create
Then yeah, I think I’m okay with putting off sleep for the night
In exchange for believing that everything is all right
Because tomorrow morning, I’m waking up at 100%
With the intent to reinvent myself and represent myself
As a glasses free Clark Kent

Like the merchant who claimed to have a spear that could penetrate anything

And a shield that nothing could penetrate

This is a paradox, and it will be loved by many

For the same reasons that many hate

As the wise young man with dreadlocks

Grows older and wiser... though baldness is his fate

He knows when to slow his pace, where haste would make him late

In due time his meekness would pay off

And they will say "His insignificance made him great."

Fly on the wall... unseen to all

Watching and laying in wait

In his principles he remains grounded, which allows him to levitate

Above the chaos

And find sanity in madness

Sanity... to calculate

To make choices, from experience of indecision

Without taking aim, to hit his target with utmost precision

A rational mind, complimented by gut feeling

Result oriented, but if they found out his method

It would probably leave them perplexed, like an honest man caught stealing.